


from you, the flowers grow

by wearealltalesintheend



Series: Tumblr Prompts [20]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Because Pining, Bisexual Disaster Sokka (Avatar), Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Past Sokka/Suki (Avatar), Past Sokka/Yue (Avatar), The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, just a little bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:35:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25366216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearealltalesintheend/pseuds/wearealltalesintheend
Summary: “Do you think Bosco would like this one, Sokka?”Sokka blinks, waiting for the phone thrust on his face to come into focus, “uh? Is that a dog suit?”“Yes,” Kuei is smiling earnestly and openly, and Bosco perks up from where he’s basking in the corner, ears twitching at the sound of his name. “It’s for when he needs to look fancy.”“That sounds reasonable,” he nods seriously, then, because imagining Bosco at some fancy-ass party is kind of terrifying and there’s a client booked in fifteen minutes, he adds wistfully, “I would die for a coffee right now.”Kuei looks up from his phone. “Oh? There’s the Jasmine Dragon across the street if you don’t mind tea.”“Isn’t that the flower shop?”“Yeah,” he says like there’s nothing weird with that and thendoesn’t elaborate on that.*or, the flower shop across the street from the tattoo parlor is more than it seems, Sokka has a crush, and Zuko learns how to deal with change.*or, summer love doesn't have to be on the beach. Sometimes, it goes on all year round.
Relationships: Sokka & Suki (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Tumblr Prompts [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1296797
Comments: 32
Kudos: 652





	from you, the flowers grow

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so this was a prompt on tumblr that grew waaay out of proportion, but I hope you like this. I looked way too much into the language of flowers than warranted, okay? Please, validated my research

Ba Sing Se tattoo parlor is a small shop downtown with black and white walls and an old, vintage sign that hangs above the door just beside the old bell, and it’s probably one of the last buildings resisting the gentrification in the district, staying stubbornly still in the middle of the upheaval of sleek steel and shiny glass doors.

Every day, Sokka used to walk past it on his way to the bus station and look at the designs hanging inside.

Now, he has the time to watch how the light streams through the shop window in the morning, how it makes all the white look golden in the late afternoon, how Kuei’s giant dog will follow the sunlight to sleep in like a cat all day long. Now, it’s summer in the city and Sokka is working here, looking out instead of in.

To be honest, he’s not entirely sure how he ended up there. University had been fine,  _ great,  _ and he loves being a mechanical engineering major, he  _ does,  _ he’s  _ great  _ at it, it’s like, he’s calling and shit, but– 

But Katara is sharing an apartment with him now since last fall so Aang is always around now too, and somehow they got roped into untangling the embezzling scheme Long Feng had been running as the parlor’s accountant early in the year and  _ now,  _ well. Now Sokka’s got a summer job.

A summer job where he gets to pretend to be an artist, even if only for a little while, only for the season, and occasionally steering his boss in the right direction on how to run the shop. Kuei’s a good businessman, he is, he’s just the kind of guy who lets his giant dog mope around the parlor and buys him outfits to wear that come with little dog hats and little dog shoes and sometimes forgets to close the register because that’s the sort of thing Long Feng used to take care of.

“Do you think Bosco would like this one, Sokka?”

Sokka blinks, waiting for the phone thrust on his face to come into focus, “uh? Is that a dog suit?”

“Yes,” Kuei is smiling earnestly and openly, and Bosco perks up from where he’s basking in the corner, ears twitching at the sound of his name. “It’s for when he needs to look fancy.”

“That sounds reasonable,” he nods seriously, then, because imagining Bosco at some fancy-ass party is kind of terrifying and there’s a client booked in fifteen minutes, he adds wistfully, “I would die for a coffee right now.”

Kuei looks up from his phone. “Oh? There’s the _ Jasmine Dragon _ across the street if you don’t mind tea.”

“Isn’t that the flower shop?”

“Yeah,” he says like there’s nothing weird with that and then  _ doesn’t elaborate on that. _

If you look out the window shop, right across the street there’s a nice little flower shop, with carnations and hibiscus and lilies and a bunch other colorful flowers Sokka can’t name all lined in neat shelves at the front, two lone succulents dangling at either side of the sign. It’s a very bright place and every morning Sokka watches an old man water all the plants with frightening care.

He’s never been inside because Suki wasn’t really a flower girl and Yue is half-way across the world still, but now that he’s paying attention, maybe it  _ is  _ weird that a flower shop would have tables outside. 

_ Huh. _ The more you know, he supposes.

“What do you think, Bosco? Should we go order some tea at the flower shop?” Sokka pets the dog absently, smiling fondly when it noses at his hand in search for treats, “yeah, you’re right, only one way to find out. Don’t let your dad burn down the shop while I’m gone, okay, buddy?”

Bosco woofs happily, tail wagging high, and slumbers towards the back room to find Kuei.  _ Honestly.  _ Weirdest tattoo shop  _ ever.  _ Sokka  _ loves  _ it here.

The summer heat hits him, head to toe, on his first step outside, and Sokka grimaces, resentful of the busy street for making him wait at the curb a whole five seconds before finding shelter under the flower shop awning. Ducking under the world’s longest hanging fern, he pushes the door open, unsurprised when a bell jingles cheerfully. It fits the place perfectly. 

“Welcome to Jasmine Dragon,” says a voice coming from Sokka’s left, and he turns to see a guy that couldn’t be much older than him behind the counter, looking decidedly unimpressed with the whole thing. “How can I help you today?”

Yeah, he doesn’t sound like he means that very much, but Sokka is a little distracted by the way his eyes are a honey-golden that shine in the sunlight streaming from the window behind him and even the autumn-red scar covering his left eye can’t dull it. “Uh,” he clears his throat– hey, those are  _ very  _ distracting eyes, okay? “I want– tea?”

_ “Uncle!”  _ Pretty Eyes calls, startlingly loud in the quiet flower shop, and for a second Sokka thinks he’s going to be escorted out of the store for being a nutjob asking for tea at what clearly is a flower shop– but the guy adds absently, “I’m banished from the kitchens.”

So much to unpack there. “Wait,” Sokka gapes, “so you really sell tea here? Like, real tea?”

“No, just the imaginary ones,” the guy rolls his eyes, going back to tending to the potted plant he had been trimming before without adding anything else, and, okay, hot or not, that’s just rude.

“Hey, it’s a legitimate question!” He frowns, feeling weirdly defensive about it, “how was I supposed to know a flower shop sells tea?!”

Still without looking up, the guy snorts. “Then why did you ask for one?”

Now, look, Sokka has a lot he wants to say to that, really, he has so many responses, but the only reason he refrains from saying anything is that the old guy that waters flowers every morning comes out of the backroom, smiling politely and so painfully genuine, on his apron hangs a name tag,  _ Iroh  _ written in cursive on it. 

“Ah, welcome to the Jasmine Dragon,” he says, handing Sokka a menu– candy-cotton-white and cherry-red, with blooming jasmines decorating the title and so many tea kinds Sokka’s head hurts. “I apologize for my nephew, I’m afraid he’s more used to tending to the flowers than the customers.”

The clock on the far wall is ticking closer and closer to the end of his fifteen minutes break, so Sokka only nods, mentally shrugging and deciding to just roll with it. After all, most people wouldn’t look at Kuei and his shop and immediately think  _ tattoo parlor.  _ “Right, it’s fine,” he shakes his head, “I, uh, would like a black tea? To go, please.”

“Of course,” the old man,  _ Iroh, _ offers him another pleasant smile and gesture the tables outside, “if you would like to sit for a minute.”

“Thanks,” he thinks of the scalding sun outside, “but I think I’ll just browse for a bit.”

Iroh nods once before disappearing back to what Sokka assumes must be the kitchens and Sokka takes a minute to weight in his options. On one hand, he could take a look around, snoop a bit,  _ or,  _ he could stay and bother the hot cranky guy at the register.

_ Honestly,  _ was it ever really even a choice?

“So,” he says, overly casual, leans an elbow on the counter. This close, Sokka can see the flower he’d been tending to is a drooping marigold, its shocking orange-yellow faded with the wilted petals, and he can see the way the guy is shockingly careful to cut the browned leaves, touching the flower gingerly, slowly, and he can see how he glares up at Sokka for a second, huffing, but his lips twitch a tiny hopeful bit. “A flower shop that is also a tea shop, huh.”

Okay, maybe that wasn’t his most eloquent moment, but come on, there’s not a lot to work here, and everyone will testify how tongue-tied Sokka can get around hot people. But then, the guy straightens to ring his order and Sokka can finally,  _ finally,  _ see his name tag.  _ Zuko,  _ it’s written in neat practical handwriting, contrasting starkly with the cheerful  _ hello! My name is:  _ typed above it.

“Uncle’s idea,”  _ Zuko  _ says shortly, “he couldn’t tear the flowers down after he bought the place. It’ll be $3,50.”

“That’s… actually, very nice of him,” Sokka says, fishing his wallet out of his jeans, and tries not to think how wonderfully Iroh would probably get along with Kuei. “Weird, but nice.”

For the first time since Sokka walked in, Zuko  _ smiles.  _ It’s a tiny thing, wry and hesitant, but it softens his whole face, lights everything up like his own little sun, “yeah, that’s Uncle.”

Sokka accepts the tea Iroh brings as if summoned by his title, and without any more reasons to linger and already late for his next client, Sokka is forced to grin, tossing a hurried  _ thank you  _ behind his shoulder, the bell above the door ringing cheerfully behind him.

The tea is  _ awesome  _ even though it’s just black tea, and when Bosco greets him at the door, yapping happily and pawing at his legs to get at his cup in the way he does like he still thinks he’s a puppy, Sokka laughs, knowing full well he’ll be back there tomorrow.

*

It’s not– Sokka’s not nervous, okay?

This is stupid, it’s just a flower shop,  _ Jesus _ , he doesn’t need to be taking deep breaths before coming in. All he needs is a black tea for him and a matcha latte for Kuei. That’s all. 

“Welcome to–  _ oh,  _ it’s you,” Zuko looks up from his slightly less droopy marigold, a cactus having joined it today, and his face is frustratingly blank. 

“Yup, me,” Sokka says, grinning his best grin and waving to Iroh at the back of the store. At the register, Zuko is looking at him and it’s gotta be a good sign that he remembered Sokka, right? “Sokka, by the way, in case you need to write on the cup, you know.”

“Yeah, it’s really crowded today,” Zuko deadpans, but he’s still looking at Sokka and that’s nice, and Sokka thinks it’s probably worrying how much he wants to stay the center of his attention. “Black tea again?”

Sokka’s grin grows chipper.  _ He remembers Sokka’s order.  _ “And a matcha latte, to go again.” Then, because Sokka's never been good at being quiet and there's something about Zuko that makes him want to keep talking until he's looking at him again, he adds, "so. Banished from the kitchens?"

And for the first time since he’s been there, Sokka watches Zuko flush, his cheeks going poppy-red, and his eyes dart up at Sokka fleetingly, a flash of sunflower gold, before he looks down at his desk, settling into an embarrassed scowl. “I called tea,” he mutters,  _ “just hot leaf juice.” _

“But isn’t that all tea is?”

_ “That’s what I said!” _

The outburst seems to startle them both and they stare at each other in stunned silence for a second, and to Sokka, it kind of feels like a lifetime there, pinned in sunshine, until– laughter spills, unprompted, and then they’re both laughing, snickering together while the ferns sway in the wind.

“Don’t let Uncle hear you say that,” Zuko says, snickers softening in a smile and looking at Sokka like he’s actually  _ seeing  _ Sokka, all of him, soul and all. It’s terrifying, Sokka never wants him to stop. “He might banish you from the shop.”

_ I’d miss you,  _ is the first thing that pops into his mind and it’s weird, and unnecessary, and it must be heatstroke because he’s only met this guy  _ yesterday _ . Internally giving himself a firm shake, Sokka grins, as charming as ever, and– 

“Here you go,” Iroh speaks up and it’s a bubble bursting, the world rushing back in, so Sokka’s grin stays frozen as he accepts the two paper cups pushed into his hands, “I’m happy to see Zuko has not run you off the shop yesterday.”

“Nah,” he says, smile thawing into something more real, “I don’t scare easily.”

While that  _ is  _ true, Sokka still makes a hasty retreat to his own shop before opening time, giving Bosco a belly rub in greeting and poking his head in the backroom to hand Kuei his tea. “Morning, boss,” he calls, setting the cup on the spot of desk he can see underneath a pile of paperwork, “this looks promising, I think we’re past Pizza-tower levels with the papers now.”

Kuei smiles tiredly, “Long Feng really did a number here,” he shakes his head, blinking at the document he’d been reading, undoubtedly yet another finance report from last year, combing for any sign of money laundering before the police comes knocking at their door again, and taking the tea gratefully, “oh, you went to the Jasmine Dragon?”

“Yeah, how did you know?”  _ Is it that obvious? Does he really have a type? Is it like, written on his forehead? Does everybody–  _

“Iroh’s tea is unmistakable,” Kuei continues, “lovely place, isn’t it?”

Sokka buries his face in his own cup. “Yeah, very lovely.”

*

The afternoon is quiet, the sun crawling across the sky slowly as if the clouds were made of molasses, and Sokka sits on the window seat and sketches the street through the bustle of people– his sketchbook is steadily filling with pictures of Bosco sleeping in the sunlight, Kuei frowning at the register, abstracts designs half-inspired by the tattoos around him, and, well, the flower shop across the street. Today, the ferns curl around the shop window, blooming camellias dot the window sill, pink traded for pencil gray, and an undefined silhouette sitting in the shadows inside. 

It’s the middle of summer and college feels like a very far away land, like the islands Katara is visiting with Aang in their activist backpacking, like Yue’s moon-touched house that looked like a palace half a world away, like a different life.

In this one, drawing and being an artist and falling in love all feel possible, touchable, truthful– easy as breathing, fire catching in dry wood.

*

Time marches on tea-flavored, far from a petty pace from day to day, and before he knows it, Sokka has an armful of Suki, her laughter singing in his ear, and his heart fills up a bit more, boarded up windows opening in an empty room. 

_ God,  _ summer is great, but boy, does he miss his friends.

“So,” Suki says, nursing the iced green tea Sokka’s snuck out to get her, after listening to the retelling of the past weeks, “let me get this straight: I leave for a month and a half and you guys dismantle a whole money-laundry ring, Aang and Katara elope to save some baby seals, and you fall in love with the boy next door?”

“It’s been an eventful summer,” he shrugs sheepishly. Then, “hey, I’m not like,  _ in love. _ And technically, it’s the boy across the street.”

“Sokka,” she smiles indulgently, eyes not quite sad–  _ concerned, worried, weary–  _ and shakes her head at him, the little golden fan charm swaying gently in her necklace, “it’s never just a crush with you. Love, for you, it’s always larger than life. It’s sweet, really.”

He sighs. It’s easy to remember a time in freshman year when he thought he was going to marry her. Maybe she has a point– he remembers Katara telling him a few weeks after she came back from her semester abroad, nearly a month after he came from visiting her there,  _ I don’t get it, you know,  _ she had been a little drunk, a little bitter about Jet,  _ you were there for a week and I thought it was going to kill you to leave and kill her to let you go. I don’t get it, how do you love someone like that? I don’t know if I want to understand, actually.  _ She had been talking about Yue, obviously, and his whole chest had ached at the time. 

Maybe Suki really does have a point. To be fair, she’s rarely wrong, anyway. “Come on,” she kicks his shin lightly, petting Bosco when he noses at her hand, “how long have you known him?”

“Two weeks,” he mumbles, crossly.

“And how often have you been to the shop since then?”

A pause. An admission, “every day.”

“Sokka,” Suki snickers, “you don’t even  _ like  _ tea all that much!”

He groans, head falling back and hitting the wall behind him. “This is stupid, I’m stupid.  _ Zuko  _ is stupid– with his stupid pretty eyes and his stupid pretty face and his stupid funny jokes.”

“You know, I’m actually concerned about the funny part. Does that mean he has the same awful sense of humor as you?” 

“He texted me a pun once,” Sokka grins, distracted from his own misery by the memory, “you would have hated that, it was the funniest goddamn thing in the world.”

Suki grimaces. “Oh god, there’s going to be two of you now, isn’t it?” Then, she smirks, perfect eyebrows rising slyly, “so you do have his number, huh?”

His cheeks heat up, probably flushing cherry-red, “he’s trying to convince his uncle to branch out with coffee drinks, so he said he’d give me a heads up when he does. He did text me to warn me away from the scones, that one time!”

She laughs outright this time, in the light fluttering way she only does after she’s been to Kyoshi Island, full of home-happiness and sand-warm smiles. “Okay, tell me all about it.”

And he does. Sokka glances out the window, catches sight of the daisies on display today, the dandelions by the window, and if he squints, he thinks he can make out Zuko, fussing at his marigold by the register, so he looks back at Suki and tells her  _ everything _ .

*

Another week of small talk that never quite feels like small talk at the counter and Sokka decides to be a little bit braver. He takes the morning shift again and this time, he doesn’t go home after sneaking Bosco a treat and yelling goodbye at Kuei in the backroom.

This time, he breathes in the hot summer air and crosses the street, breezing past the ferns almost in greeting. 

This time, he goes up to the register and grins at Zuko, says, “the usual, to stay.”

This time, Zuko’s eyebrow arches and his lips twist in that half-smile of his that means he’s amused but trying no to let it show too much on his face. “You’re staying?”

“Yeah,” Sokka casts around, looking for a table inside that doesn’t immediately scream  _ yes, I’m here because of you.  _ “I’m stealing your air conditioning, my apartment’s too hot right now.”

Zuko snorts, calls the order to his uncle in the kitchens, and when he turns back to Sokka, he’s still sorta smiling. It’s very blinding. “He’s making a new blend in there today, if you stay, you might join the guinea pig club.”

“I think I can handle that,” he hears himself saying, thoughts still caught up in vines over the smudge of dirt in Zuko’s pale throat, the green band-aid on his finger, how sunlight is glowing off his skin, the way his teeshirt stretches across his shoulders, his biceps. “So I’ll just– over there, right.”

It’s painfully awkward of him, and Sokka cringes hard enough for his teeth to hurt, wants to rewind the day so he can do better at pretending this isn’t earthshakingly terrifying for him, but because the universe hates him, all he can do is slink away to a corner table, surrounded by gentle blue violets and blooming gloxinias while Zuko regards him with a confused look that implies he’s debating Sokka’s sanity.

Which is fair, considering half the time Sokka kind of feels like he’s losing his mind a little. Whatever. He pulls out his sketchbook, his pencils, his eraser, lays it all on the glass, and narrows his eyes at the little jar of forget-me-nots at the center of the table– the lighting isn’t the best, but it’ll do.

Okay, so. It’s not like Sokka’s planning on living off his art or anything, if you could even call it art, but he’s been doodling since he was a little kid and his mom was still alive to coo at his stick figures, he likes it, he likes it  _ a lot.  _ Enough that when he starts, when he really gets into it, he doesn’t even notice Iroh bringing him his tea, doesn’t remember sipping it, doesn’t see customers come in and out the shop, buying drinks and flowers and even the cursed scones. 

He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but he snaps out it when the chair in front of him is pulled up. “What are you doing?”

Sokka looks up, blinking to refocus at the reality around him, and finds Zuko sitting there, in front of him with two paper cups in his hands– a jasmine tea for him and a black for Sokka, and something cracks inside Sokka’s chest, affection spilling all over his heart, drowning everything else, bruising in its strength. Suki was right, it does feel larger than life. 

“Just– some doodles, you know, to pass the time,” he licks his lips, accepts his new tea gratefully, careful not to shiver when their fingers touch in the exchange. Did Zuko flush? He can’t be sure, his eyes are tired and wishful thinking has a way of tinting the world in rose glasses. 

Zuko nods, “can I?”

Can he? Yes, of course, yes, there’s not much Sokka wouldn’t give him, but– so few people have seen the sketchbook, it feels intimate somehow, like he’d be handing Zuko a window to his soul, a key to something that he can’t take back later; it feels like saying  _ it’s okay, you can see me _ . “Sure.”

Careful hands flip through the pages, eyes taking in every line, every imperfection, and Sokka is terribly aware of how much he fucking sucks at drawing, but if Zuko gives it back to him and tells him he hates it, Sokka might– he doesn’t know. Cry, probably. 

“You drew all of these?” Zuko asks, helping nothing with his stupid blank face, and now that he notices it, Sokka realizes his last drawing, the one with the forget-me-nots, had grown into sketching the shop, with the door to the kitchens, Iroh tending to the orchids, the marigold at the counter, and Zuko reading by the register. 

“Yeah,” should he apologize? Would that make it weirder? He shouldn’t have spent so much time getting the shading right for Zuko’s eyes, it was impossible anyway. “Sorry, I should have probably asked first–”

“No,” Zuko cuts him off abruptly, smiling apologetically right after, “I’m just surprised, I didn’t know you were an artist.”

Now, Sokka has to laugh, even if it doesn’t sound very happy. “I’m not, it’s just a hobby, really. And a summer job, I guess.”

“Didn’t you draw these?” Zuko’s eyebrow is rising again, this time in his usual unimpressed stare, “then you’re an artist. Just because it’s not in some fancy museum, it doesn’t mean it’s not art. Trust me, if some of the stuff my father has hanging around the house can be called art, then so can your drawings. They’re much better anyway.”

The sketchbook is still between them and Zuko is looking at him, sounding so sincere in his flippancy– like he doesn’t get why it would be a big deal, why would Sokka not agree with him, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, a universal truth. “Seriously,” he continues, “these are all pretty great.”

“I,” Sokka trails off, struggling to rally himself into a full sentence, “thank you?”

Then, because sometimes wonders come in pairs, Zuko hesitates, blushing faintly as he looks down at the drawing. “Is this really how you see– the shop?”

“Yeah,” he says truthfully, “it is.”

“I think– it looks better. In your drawing, I mean.”

Sokka thinks about the past three weeks; he could probably draw the store in his sleep. “Nah, I have in good authority it looks better in person.”

For a minute, silence stretches silkily between them, with Sokka staring at Zuko staring at the drawing, and Sokka thinks this it, this is the moment Zuko notices his crush and banishes him from the shop, tells him with pity that he just wanted a friend, this is the moment where the ground cracks open and swallows him whole.

Instead, Zuko says, “how much for the drawing?”

Instead, Sokka chokes on lukewarm tea. “Excuse me?”

“The drawing of the shop,” he repeats, abrupt and cross in the way he only ever is when he’s embarrassed, “how much do you want for it? Uncle would like it, he’ll probably want to hang somewhere around here.”

This is all too overwhelming, all Sokka had set out to do today was sit in the corner and drink his tea and maybe chat a little, watch people come and go, and stare wistfully out of the window. Instead– “you really want it?”

Zuko rolls his eyes, fingers wrapping around his cup. “Yeah, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

And that is so awfully true, Sokka is giddy with it. “I’ll give you for free,” he smiles, for real this time, believing and excited, “I have to finish it first, but you can have it.”

“No,” Zuko offers him one of his rare grins, heady and addicting, the kind that Sokka would go to war for, “I want to buy it– we’ll be the firsts to have an original Sokka. Think we can make money on  _ eBay  _ once you’re famous?”

  
  


Sokka laughs, startled and achingly happy, and it feels selfish, indulgent, to bask under Zuko’s light like this, but it’s summer and anything can happen, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been more in love than this.

*

The drawing is finished by the time the sun blooms back in the sky the next day, but Sokka keeps it, smoothes out the edges and cuts it from his sketchbook, and knows with startling certainty he can’t show Zuko this without admitting his feelings.

It’s too obvious, present in every line, every shadow, every light, and it’d be doing everyone a disservice to pretend otherwise. 

So he puts it away and keeps going to the flower shop, keeps smiling at Zuko and bitching about customers, just for a little longer.

Both Suki and Katara would probably yell at him for it, but Sokka just needs a bit more time. It never feels like enough time with Zuko, but he can try.

Right?

*

Wrong. 

Time is fertile soil for his feelings and this love grows roots deeper and deeper into his bones with every new detail he learns about Zuko. A childhood story, a passing comment about his uncle, a confession about his father, the admission about his sister– from the smallest things to the secrets he’s trusted with, Sokka learns them and loves him all the more for it.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, and Sokka is half afraid it till all spill out of him, grow too large for the world to contain,  _ larger than life,  _ and he’ll drown in a bed of flowers. 

So he clings to the last days of summer and wishes on the brightest star he knows before ducking past the hanging ferns one last time, his heart right there in his sleeves, pulsing and bleeding.

“Hey,” he says, knuckles white where he grips the framed drawing, and doesn’t dare to look up at Zuko. What if it’s written all over his eyes? What if there’s no curtains to his soul? “Can I talk to you?”

Zuko makes a sound, confused and inquiring. “Sure. Uncle, I’m taking my break!” A hand touches his arm, fingers wrapping gently around his elbow, “come on, let’s sit, you’re looking like shit.”

Well, that’s just great, isn’t it? Sokka just looks like he’s going to be ill, no problem there, of course not. “I finished it,” he blurts out, pushing the frame across the table before he can think better of it, before his courage fails him, before Zuko can change his mind and decide he doesn’t want his shitty doodles after all. “The drawing, I mean.”

“Oh,” Zuko says, and he sounds odd as he unwraps it, touching the glass with a reverence that doesn’t belong in a flower shop, that doesn’t belong to something Sokka made. It looks holy, precious, sacred. It makes Sokka ache in his breast bone, makes his lungs fill with petals, spring coming early around his ribcage. “It’s  _ beautiful.  _ Sokka, this is– how much do I owe you?”

Inhale, exhale. Sokka finally allows himself to  _ look,  _ to be overwhelmed with Zuko’s presence, with the light in his eyes and the muscles on his arms and the kindness in everything he does. “Go on a date with me,” panic shakes his core and Sokka can’t take it back, can’t rewind time like an old VHS tape, can barely backtrack, “I mean, you don’t  _ have  _ to, you don’t  _ owe  _ me anything _ , _ this is a gift, or like, you can pay me a dollar if you really want to pay me, I guess, but I’m– I really like you, like,  _ a lot,  _ and I’d really like if you went on a date with me.”

Zuko stares at him, his good eye widening and there’s so much emotion blooming and wilting in his gaze, Sokka wants to bury himself in them, wants to reach out and take his hand and ask him never to let go. His heart is racing offbeat, a heart-attack that keeps going, until– 

_ “No.” _

*

If he’s being honest, Sokka can’t really recall anything after the single worst,  _ loneliest,  _ word in the world shot out of Zuko’s mouth like a bullet. 

He doesn’t remember if he apologized and he doesn’t remember if Zuko said anything either. He might have, it sounds like something Zuko would do. But Sokka’s head is all white noise after that. White noise and shame and regret so acidic, he’s surprised he hasn’t melted into the floor yet.

Maybe he should call Suki, maybe he should have called her anytime between before going in and the four hours since he sleepwalked out of there. Suki always knows what to say– he doesn’t remember being this heart-shattered after  _ their  _ breakup. 

But Suki would want to comfort him and Katara would get mad at Zuko, and right now Sokka doesn’t want to do either, he just wants to be depressed and wallow in self-pity. “Have you ever been in love, Bosco?”

Bosco whines, pawing at his knees until Sokka lets him half-drape himself across his lap, cold nose pushing at his hand.

“You’re lucky, then,” he buries his fingers in the soft fur, so awfully grateful Kuei is still at the precinct. No human witness to watch him be miserable and pathetic and– 

The tacky bell above the door, too obnoxious to sound anything like the one across the street, rings scissor-sharp across the parlor and Sokka looks up morosely to find– “hey, Zuko here.”

Zuko stands barely a foot inside the shop, looking awkward and out of place without the forest of flowers haloing his figure, and Bosco leaves Sokka to sniff at his shoes. “Uh, that’s a– is this a dog? I honestly can’t tell. It’s not a bear, is it?”

“That’s Bosco,” Sokka says, and his voice doesn’t crack, it just goes steadily broken, “he’s my boss’s dog. What are you doing here?”

Look, he doesn’t mean to be rude, he doesn’t even really want Zuko to go, but he  _ does  _ want to lick his wounds in peace, and just looking at him makes his whole body hurt. 

In his defense, Zuko actually looks like he knows that too, scratching at the back of his neck like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, eyes darting around the store. “Here,” he says, walking like a doomed man to the gallows, and pushes a crinkled paper into his hands, “it’s a coupon. For the drawing. I forgot my wallet today and I– it’s for a free tea, that’s more than a dollar.

“Sorry, I,” he pauses, clears his throat. “I talked with Uncle and he said–  _ I think  _ he said I tend not to trust good things to happen to me, or something like that, but I don’t know. It’s confusing, what he says. But I think he said that.”

Sokka swallows thorns at the back of his throat. “Okay?”

“What I mean is–” he groans, frustrated, dragging his hand across his face before taking a deep breath. Inhale, exhale, “I’m going about this all wrong. What I mean is: I’m sorry I said no, I didn’t mean it. I want to go on a date with you. More than one. I actually like you, a lot. Sokka, I’m falling in love with you– no, I  _ fell  _ in love with you. I’m in love with you, is what I mean.”

Hope is a daffodil blooming out of concrete– stubborn, and resilient, and Sokka watches it grow back right before his eyes, a petal out of each word from Zuko. “You’re in love with me?”

Zuko smiles, breathless, tentative. “I’m in love with you. And I trust you. Go on a date with me?”

“More than one?” Sokka feels the beginning of an answering grin pull at his lips.

“A hundred,” he takes a step forward, closer and closer, “as many as you want.”

“Yes,” Sokka says, and closes the distance between them, drawing Zuko as closes as he can, until all he has to do is tilt his head and they’re kissing. It tastes like jasmine tea and the candy he hides in the second drawer, and Sokka is so in love the world is rearranging itself. This love is wildflowers taking root and the summer is ending, but  _ god,  _ it feels like he’s carrying the whole of spring in his heart.

“I’m sorry I said no the first time,” Zuko speaks quietly against his lips, hand searching Sokka’s to entwine their fingers, “I was scared– you’re going back to college, I thought you might forget about me.”

Sokka laughs softly at the utter impossibility of it. “Wait. So are  _ you.” _

“Yeah, but I mean,” he shrugs, “I knew I wasn’t going to forget you.”

“Jesus  _ Christ,  _ you keep  _ saying  _ things like that–” Sokka closes his eyes, fingers tightening on the fistful of Zuko’s shirt, “okay. I couldn’t even if I wanted to, okay? There’s no forgetting you.”

Zuko seems to pause, considering this. “I mean, I know that  _ now–” _

“Oh my god, you asshole,” Sokka laughs again, so stupidly happy, it keeps bubbling out of him. Then, he kisses him again, just because he can, before adding, “so. I’m serious about this, I want you to meet my friends.”

“I want to meet your friends about as much as I want to meet anyone,” Zuko grins, tugging him to sit at the window seat so they’re not standing in the middle of the shop like two lovesick idiots, “maybe a bit more, because it’s you.”

“That’s– sweet, actually,” he shakes his head, “Katara and Aang will be back next week, and Suki will probably corner you to give you the shovel talk– fair warning, she can be  _ scary.  _ Toph is probably going to be back sometime before classes start, but if she isn’t, we might have to pull off a jailbreak from her parent’s house. Do you think you’d be up for that?”

“You know, most people just ask their boyfriends to meet their family at dinner,” Zuko says, and sunlight is painting his skin golden, casting a light show in his eyes, and Sokka’s never wanted to draw something so bad in his life, “but I think I can handle that.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> okay, so if you liked this, you can always come talk to me or send me prompts at [my writing Tumblr](https://evelyn-hugc.tumblr.com/) or at my [main blog.](http://caroldcnvcrs.tumblr.com/)


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